


And So He Did

by ElywynHolm



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: I hurt my own feelings with this enjoy, Multi, Update day: Thursday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElywynHolm/pseuds/ElywynHolm
Summary: They sent her to spy, and now she's half dead. The mark isn't welcome, a gift to save the world, given to her by a god and his prophet she doesn't even believe in. Marga Lavellan, first to the Keeper, finds herself labelled as the Herald of another's religion, almost heretical in the eyes of those she calls home. However, the sky had been torn asunder and it seems only she can stop it from swallowing the entire world, at least she'll have some help along the way.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Lavellan/Solas, Sera/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Networking

Marga sighed, sitting on the lower tree branch. They wouldn't be here for long, they were camping for food and the surrounding area was filled with wolf shrines. She'd never understood why they still honoured a god who had supposedly betrayed their other gods and doomed them all. They'd been immortal once. Mother had liked to tell her that one, remind her that the story she told of Fen'Harel was not a good one to be enjoyed - but one to be feared. 

She remembered it almost word for word, along with begging her mother to tell the story every night. She always fell asleep just as her mother declared the Gods had been betrayed, that they were lost to the world. Sometimes when she dreamed, she would see a man and he would morph into a wolf and run through the Fade her spirit had gone to. Sometimes he would fight monsters that came for her. She told her mother, who warned her not to speak of it, telling her the dread wolf does not bring good dreams.

Since she had her vallaslin decorate her face, Marga had developed a hatred for her childhood friend and the wolf no longer appeared to her in the night. She knew too well, the story of how he had murdered Mythal, whose marks Marga now bared on her face. She had never learned to recite that, despite her hatred for the wolf, she missed him too. It was good to have a companion to fight nightmares away with. 

"First, the Keeper wishes to speak with you," one of the Keeper's heralds told her. Marga nodded to them and jumped off the branch, making her way to where the Keeper had made her home. What could it be now? There had been mutterings of the conclave, that they needed to know what would happen to them. Marga wasn't convinced it would affect them, at least not much. They tended to leave the Dalish alone, though there was also the accusation of apostates being hidden in Dalish ranks or returning to Dalish families they had been taken from. That wouldn't help.

"What are you saying you found?" The Keeper asked as Marga entered, two boys were bouncing up and down, telling the Keeper something.

"We found a man! He said he'd been asleep for thousands of years!"

"The same story," Marga smiled, coming to ruffle the boys' hair, "we believe you both, but it's been a whole year since you told us, the man is long gone. Vana daraan, mir dha'lenaan." They ran off at Marga's words, her eyes watching them until they had run all the way out. She then turned to the Keeper and bowed her head a little.

"Andaran atish'an, Da'len Mythal" the Keeper smiled.

"Aneth ara," Marga responded, lifting her head, "you wished to see me."

"I did, I trust someone has communicated to you, the conclave that will take place at the Temple of Sacred Ashes," the Keeper explained, "you know that this may affect us."

"Mother," Marga started but she was cut off. Her mother told her how it was paramount that they knew what they may be facing, the Lavellan had not worked with humans during the blight unless forced to, they had no reason not to pose a threat or consider the Lavellan to be doing the same. Marga huffed. She was right, but to interfere would surely make things worse. She sighed in defeat, "what are we to do about this conclave?"

"You will go, and spy," Marga's mother told her, "they will expect some curiosity so it shouldn't be too hard for you to slip by, unnoticed. Vahra will go with you."

"Mother, this will surely make things worse!" Marga protested, "we aren't meant to get involved with what man does, we don't need to know, they've never come after the Dalish unless they have intended to kill us and few do. It's frowned upon." 

"And what are we to do if they decide our magic is illegal and we don't know, they have no duty to tell us," her mother snapped back, "is it that you are too much of a coward to go, or you wish ill on us. Fen'Harel ma ghilanas!"

"Mother! You think I'm so agent of the trickster god?" Marga felt her outrage rise in her chest, how could she think such a thing about her? Her breathing became unsteady, each breath huffing out of her nose, her lips bound together by her desire to remain silent. Her mother so did like to use her love of the stories against her. They were just stories. She had no grand ideas of rebellion, especially not in the name of the one who had doomed them. 

"Go to the Conclave, take Vahra with you, both of you return with information or do not come back at all," the Keeper, that's right, _the Keeper, not mother_ , told her. Marga bowed her head again, muttering to herself before turning and departing. Her face had gone scarlet, bringing out the white-painted into her skin. She huffed again and went back to her tree. To think that one day, she would lead these people. Had her mother made her first as punishment? It wouldn't surprise her. 

"Marga?" Asked a voice. She looked down to see Vahra, the elf who would accompany her. Marga smiled at her and slipped off her perch on the tree, telling her she was sorry for the show she made. Vahra brushed it off, her elaborate praise of Sylaise on her face. It fit her well. She had preferred the life of her father, making herbs-mixes and potions to help the sick and injured, if anyone returned bitten by something it was Vahra they went to. She was always smiling, she was always so happy. Then again, her mother had not punished her for not wanting her life. Hunting had never suited Vahra.

Deshanna approached slowly, watching Marga with care. Marga waved her over, smiling at the second. Really, the second should have been first and Marga would be much happier hunting with the others. Deshanna had no relation to her mother, her mother even liked her. 

"You've got nothing to fear from me, Deshanna," Marga smiled, "come join me." Deshanna sighed and pulled herself up the tree with Marga, who shuffled back to give the other woman room. 

"Your mother was harsh," Deshanna remarked, "it's almost like she doesn't want you to come back."

"She disdains my attachment to a story from when I was a child, if it bothered so much she ought not to have told me it," Marga shrugged, "it's not nepotism my mother does, this is punishment. You'd make a better first than I, all I have going for me are Mythal's marks and a slightly better grasp of the language than most, I swear half of it is made up." 

"You never did care much for our ways, Marga," Deshanna shook her head, "not in the way your mother does."

"I know all the stories, I just don't think we're doing it right," Marga sighed, "if we didn't guard what we have so harshly, we might get more out of them. I'm not saying hand them to humans, Anduril strike me down, but if we perhaps worked together more than once every ten years."

"You certainly wouldn't protest to more Arlathvhen," Vahra smiled, "do you get so drunk to embarrass your mother or yourself?"

"A little bit of both?" Marga grinned, settling against the tree. The two other women settled with her and for a moment, Marga could have sworn she saw one of the wolf statues move. Marga watched it but the stone remained where it was. She thought too of the story the boys kept telling the Keeper, trying to make her investigate. _Thousands of years;_ the only people who could sleep for so long were the elves of old, who they had once been. Whoever the man was had probably just been spinning a tale to the boys to entertain them, magic did strange things and made things and people appear in the strangest places. 

"Do you think gods are capable of love, Deshanna?" Marga asked, still watching the statue. 

"What do you mean?"

"When I was little, one of the stories mother told me about Fen'Harel was that he loved a follower of Mythal, it's part of why he did it, something happened to her."

"Don't some stories say he loved Mythal...which is odd, considering he killed her," Vahra interjected.

"I feel like someone with Harel in their name is capable of a crime of passion," Deshanna sighed, following Marga's gaze to the statue, "there are so many stories, who knows what is true, some say Mythal was killed outright, some say that she went to Asha'bellanar, some saw Asha'bellanar went to her. It depends on who you ask." 

Marga sighed, closing her eyes. She touched her face, tracing the lines. She'd liked the story of the follower Fen'Harel had loved, it made his betrayal make more sense to her. On top of that, tragedy was a favourite of hers and who could go wrong with it? Still, to think a god was capable of love, that was unlikely. At least, in her eyes. 

Vahra distracted her from her thoughts, asking her what they ought to take with them, when they should leave, how they would get there. Marga would have liked to tell her that she didn't know the answer. That was a lie, of course, their best bet was to go to Haven first, that's where all the pilgrims went. They could blend in there, build some story of being Andrastian, it wasn't common but certainly not unheard of to find Dalish converts - Vallaslin couldn't be removed after all. 

With Haven days away, they found themselves putting away what little they could take with them and Marga petitioning her mother for the little money they kept. The argument it entailed filled the whole forest, scaring off any hope of venison or rabbit for any suppers. Yet, Marga won, and she was given some coin to keep Vahra and herself afloat. She promised she'd return with the same amount. 

With the possibility of never returning at all, Marga also found herself passing on her rites to Deshanna. It seemed strange, Deshanna was older than her by a number of years and had overseen Marga's education in some capacity but she had been shunned in favour of the Keeper putting her daughter in place. No wonder some were celebrating her departure, Marga kept it to herself that she was celebrating with them. To be free, just for a few days.

"Obligation doesn't suit you, does it, Marga," Deshanna sighed, "still, I thank you, at least you are dedicated to preservation."

"I like hunting, but not enough for it to be all I do," Marga smiled, "it's an interest, if nothing else, whether it's been forced on me or not." Deshanna smiled at her, inspecting one of the documents the Lavellan kept hidden from humans, even the ones who were kind to them. If it had been up to Marga, she would have gone and found the best scholar she could, there were plenty of words she couldn't make sense of in the old writing. However, her mother had stopped her, even when the clan of the Warden had offered to look. Deshanna looked up at her and sighed,

"If I could, I would."

"I know, Deshanna, I know," Marga smiled, "but more than my mother would protest if you or I did it." Deshanna nodded and tucked the document away. Deshanna continued working, occasionally asking Marga something, but mostly leaving the other woman be. Marga was more occupied by the model of a Dragon. It had been carved for her by her father when she was a child before he had disappeared. Dead, probably; that's what mother had told her and he'd never come back, so what else could she assume? 

"Marga," Deshanna pulled Marga from the Dragon and she looked up to see her mother, looking at her expectantly. She looked back at Deshanna, who reached out a hand taking Marga's arm, "may the Dread Wolf never hear your steps." Marga nodded to her and turned her back on the other elf. It was time to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen in this chapter
> 
> Vana daraan, mir dha'lenaan - Go play, my children  
> Andaran atish'an/Aneth ara - Greetings  
> Fen'Harel ma ghilanas! - The Dread Wolf guides you!
> 
> A Note on the Elvhen used now and in subsequent chapters I am using Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen, however I'm not very proficient with linguistics so there may be mistakes and inconsistencies


	2. The Conclave

They had left not long after and it took days to reach where the Conclave would be held. They learnt to hide their scarring, blend in with the City elves, watching everyone who gathered. There were mages and nobles, templars and Chantry members - more and more coming in each day. The two women reserved to offer service to one of them, just as lowly city elves looking for work. Then they could get inside with little to worry about.

So, they did as decided, following about a Chantry member who thought themselves better than everyone he came across. They put their out feelings aside and followed him blindly. For a day or two, they were nothing better than servants. The man had a visitor, a Trevelyan mage who seemed like family to him. She stood tall, her body too slender to be real surely, raven hair covered her head, gentle waves obstructing her face from view. She was very beautiful, yet something about her twisted the world around them distorted it until it was beyond recognition.

The day came but neither woman remembered any of it.

While one remained where the conclave had fallen the other was taken prisoner and awoke with her hands bound, surrounded by people she did not know - not even the lord was present. All those who surrounded her argued - they were arguing about her. Her mind did not clear easily, all she could remember was the blast, asking something and then being thrown from where she stood. The pain. She remembered the pain and in that moment it came back, leading her to cry out some kind of green lightning spewing from her hand. The man, she remembered him too. Caring for her.

The world went black again.

When Marga next awoke, she was alone, in the darkness of the room save a few candles that had been lit to save her eyes. The green lightning once again produced from her hand but it didn't hurt this time. It merely pulsed with sparks, nothing like the magic she'd seen those with an affinity for lightening use. She had little time to think of what it be, the door swinging open. Two women walked in; one all in armour and the other in simpler clothes, her head covered with a hood.

"Give me one good reason we shouldn't kill you now," the one in armour asked, her face twisted in disgust and despair, "everyone who went to the conclave is dead, except you!" She knelt beside Marga, demanding, "explain this?" She had taken a hold of Marga's pulsing arm but whatever came from it did not hurt her and she looked at Marga, waiting for an answer.

"I can't," Marga protested, she couldn't. Even the memories she had woken with briefly, all those people arguing over her, they were faint and fading faster.

"What do you mean you can't?" Demanded the armed woman.

"I don't know what it is or how it got there," Marga pleaded for the woman to believe her but she was grabbed and told she was lying. The other woman was quick to push the armed one back, warning her that they needed Marga. Barely noting the woman's name in her head, Marga was more concerned with them needing her. What did they need her for?

"Whatever you think I did, I've done none of it," Marga shouted, trying to break her bonds, "let me go!"

"Do you remember what happened?" The hooded woman asked, though there was no care in her voice, "how this all started."

Marga tried as hard as she could to remember, annunciating what came to mind as she did. She remembered running, something chasing her. It almost caught her once. The woman. She remembered the woman. The hooded woman questioned her, in disbelief, and more came back to her. The woman, reaching out to her, aski-

"Go the forward camp, Leliana," Cassandra instructed when it became apparent that Marga had exhausted her memory, "I will take her to the rift." Leliana nodded and disappeared out of the door. Cassandra came straight for Marga and for a moment, Marga thought the woman was going to grab hold of her throat. Instead, she knelt and undid the locks on her ankles. Marga tried to ask her what happened but was told that it would be easy to show her. Cassandra helped her stand and began leading the way to wherever she wished to take her. 

Outside was cold, colder than Marga remembered it being, and she shied away from the falling snow. She should have been used to it, the Free Marches got plenty but being stuck inside for who knew how long had done something to her. At least, she thought it was the snow she shied from until she lifted her head and saw it. The great green spiral, spilling from the sky, rock falling from it, suspended as it descended slowly. 

"We call it the Breach, it's a huge rift between our world and the Fade," Cassandra explained, "it grows larger by the hour and there are other rifts like it, this is just the largest." Marga was mesmerised by the Breach. It was the same green light, coming from her hand, that hovered over the world. To think an explosion, as Cassandra called it, could do such a thing.

"Unless we do something, it could expand until it swallows the whole world," Cassandra continued. However, Marga had little time to think on her words. The Breach pulsed and so did the mark on her hand, bringing Marga to her knees as she screamed in pain. She'd never felt anything like this. It was as if a white-hot fire was burning under her skin, making the world go black. She remained conscious this time however and when her sight returned, Cassandra was kneeling before her - even looking a little concerned. 

"Each time the Breach expands, so does your mark," she explained grimly, "and it's killing you." Who had worked that out? A brief memory flashed across Marga's mind. A man, caring for her. Who could that be? Had he been the one to diagnose whatever this was on her hand. Then, her mind snapped to Vahra. Oh, Vahra. 

Cassandra marched Marga through a camp, telling her how the people had decided her guilt. She could see it on their faces, a few spat at her and many avoided looking at her or backed away from her. It didn't help that as Cassandra led her through, speaking of the efforts to bring peace between mages and templars now foiled, the mark on her hand would flare and scare off any who remained to look at her. 

She hadn't wanted any of this. She wanted to be home. To be working with Deshanna, going out on a hunt with the others, sit in the trees with Vahra, maybe start packing up to move on. Gods, she even wanted to see her mother. Were they safe? What about those boys? She almost asked Cassandra if the people knew her surname but thought better of it, should she be forced to utter it and they didn't know perhaps it was the only way to keep her people safe - if there was anyone left that was. 

Through some great doors, Cassandra stopped and turned to Marga, wielding a knife. She took Marga's arms and cut the ropes as she told her that she could promise no other certainty than a trial. Marga looked at the breach once again. Had she caused it? The explosion, she could remember that, how could she have caused it? She had simply been hiding, ready to listen with the Cadesh dwarf they'd run into doing the same job as them. _Where's Vahra?_

The soldiers they passed ignored them and Marga quickly found herself brought to her knees by the mark, Cassandra having to pull her back up onto her feet.

"How did I survive the explosion?"

"They say you walked out of a rift," Cassandra answered, leading the way down a path, partially ablaze, "there was a woman behind you, in the rift."

"I suppose the hostility makes more sense," Marga mumbled, carrying on up the path, towards a bridge. They had almost crossed it when Marga felt the pain in her hand again and shoved Cassandra back, the bridge shattering and killing all on it. Foundation gone, the two of them were thrown to the ground before. Marga still struggling to move as part of the breach exploded, colliding with the ground before them and opening one of the rifts Cassandra had told her about.

"Stay there!" Cassandra instructed her, charging at the wraiths who emerged, sword brandished. At first, Marga watched; there was no doubt that Cassandra was a valiant warrior and she cut through those that appeared with ease. However, one had slipped by her and Marga was on her knees, watching it come closer and closer, ready to strike. Not thinking, she grabbed the staff that had been abandoned and mustered all power in her right hand, throwing shards at the wraith. It froze and Cassandra appeared to shatter it. 

"Drop your weapon! Now!"

"A demon attacked me, what was I supposed to do?"

"You don't need to fight!"

"And you say that won't happen again?"

Cassandra faltered and sighed, lowering her sword and shaking her head.

"I suppose your right, fine, keep it," Cassandra looked back at Marga, "I can't protect you, and you should not remain defenceless. While I'll remember you did not attempt to run, I did not give you that weapon."

"Understood."

" _Good._ "

They continued running, a few more demons coming for them but together they made short work of them. Marga ran on ahead, Cassandra shouting directions to her. As they got closer to where they were heading, the sounds of fighting got louder and louder, filling the air with the sound of battle. Marga hated it. The sound of demons foul voices, people shouting, people dying. She hated it already, yet something told her there would be so much more to come. 

"Who's fighting?"

"You'll see, we have to help them!"

Marga ran over a ridge, below here were demons and one of the rifts and fighting them were two people. One was a dwarf, as expected short and stocky and armed with a crossbow. The other was an elf, like her. He looked oddly familiar, or at least his clothes did, but she recalled she'd seen them on an apostate who had passed through without doing them any harm. Perhaps it was just the clothes, perhaps he was just an apostate. Cassandra joined her and the two made their way down; Marga attacking the demons from a distance as best she could. At least her mother's techniques could finally be used for something. 

One of the demons went straight for the other elf and Marga was quick to freeze it, for a brief moment she saw his icy blue eyes and seemed to find something in her that remembered them but it was gone in an instant. He had struck down a demon that had come for. The crossbow-wielding Dwarf and Cassandra took care of the final one as the elf came up to Marga.

He grabbed her wrist and looked her in the eye, all too directly, and then shoved her hand into the rift. It pulsed with energy but did not harm her. Underneath her fingertips she could feel the rift writhing as if she were hurting it, it exploded and then collapsed in on itself. It was as if it had never been there at all. 

Marga found herself staring at her hand, some green light still pulsing from her hand. She looked up at the elf, into those icy eyes, looking back down at her hand quickly.

"What did you do?"

"I," the elf smiled, "did nothing, the credit is yours." 

"You mean this?" Marga asked, moving her fingers away from the mark. The elf took her hand and opened her fingers, looking up at her rather than her hand.

"It was a guess, a theory, that whatever magic opened the breach had been implanted in your hand and that it could close the rifts by the breach," the elf smiled again, there was a little well earned smugness behind it, "it seems I was right." _Perhaps smugness wasn't the right word, pride perhaps?_

"Which means, it could close the breach," Cassandra added.

"Possibly," the elf looked at Marga, his eyes seemed to wander along the lines of her Vallasin than really looking at her face, his grip on her hand tightened for a moment, "it seems you hold the key to our salvation." He slowly let go of her hand and Marga turned away from him as the dwarf introduced himself, after revealing he was indeed pleased that they wouldn't be "ass-deep in demons" forever. 

"Varric Tethras, rogue, storyteller and occasionally unwelcome tag along," he added a wink to Cassandra as he said the last part and she groaned in frustration. 

"What's next?" Marga asked, not sure what to do with the silence.

"We meet Leliana," Cassandra answered, bluntly, looking straight at Varric. He grinned at her.

"What a great idea!"

"Oh no, Varric your help is appreciated but-"

"Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker," Varric questioned, "your soldiers aren't in control anymore, _you_ need me." Cassandra made a second noise of disgust and Marga almost found herself laughing. A strange pair, they probably worked quite well together, she'd seen something like it in the young man and woman who her mother had pitted as ones to follow in her own and Deshanna's footsteps as first and second. 

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," the elf introduced himself, "I'm glad to see you still live."

"What that means is, I kept that mark from killing you while you slept," Varric grinned.

"Said with an elven turn of phrase," Marga smiled, "Andaran atish'an, Solas." It was good, to find someone like her. He bore no Vallasin but there was no way he was a city elf, she knew how they talked and it was not like that. He smiled and responded in kind, prompting her for her name, as if he didn't already know it.

"Marga. You know about the mark?"

Cassandra cut in,

"Like you, Solas is an apostate, well versed in such matters."

"Technically all mages are apostates now, Cassandra," he smiled at Marga, "and I don't know how kind the Dalish take to being called apostates." Solas then explained how his travels had given him great knowledge of the fade and that he had come to help as he had been nearby. He had worked to find some explanation, looked after Marga should she be useful and now delivered the ominous words,

"If it is not closed, we are all doomed regardless of its origin." 

"And what will you do when this is over?" Marga questioned, "Apostates are...still apostates, at least, as far as I know."

"Hopefully those in power will remember who helped and who did not," Solas answered. He turned to Cassandra, "Cassandra Marga is a mage, but I can't imagine a mage having as much power as to do something like this." 

"We should get to the forward camp," Cassandra nodded but stopped short, "a scout."

Another elf came running to them, a woman this time. Shorter than most, wild red hair flew behind her. She was Dalish and Marga could hardly contain herself,

"Vahra?! You're alive!"

"Marga!" Vahra called back, whatever she was supposed to report forgotten, she ran up and threw her arms around Marga, the two women clinging onto one another. Marga refused to let go, almost breaking Vahra's ribs, leaving her laughing. She reported to Cassandra and then turned to Marga.

"I see you've met your protector," she grinned at Solas, who looked the other way, she pulled on Marga's collar, "say he took quite a fancy to you."

"They tried to have her killed, Vahra, I think my response was quite natural," Solas sighed. Vahra raised her eyebrows, grinning at Marga, who's cheek she pinched,

"Never been so happy to see your mother god face, What are you doing here?"

"We're making our way to the forward camp, go ahead, report to Cullen and Marietta if they're still there," Cassandra answered for her. Vahra grinned and ran off. She was alive. Vahra was alive, Marga couldn't keep the smile off her face, she glanced at the companions she had acquired. Varric grinned, crossbow on his shoulder, Cassandra frowning at him while Solas was preoccupied with the breach. He seemed not to want to look at her on Vahra's remark.

"We best get going then. Lead the way, Cassandra." 


	3. The Breach

Marga followed Cassandra's lead, Varric and Solas close by at all times. There were more demons like before but no rifts insight. She hadn't known they could wander so far from their sources. A few had been foolish enough to open rifts and had been swiftly put down by the Keeper's hunters, still, the demons had never gotten far. 

"You are Dalish, you noted my elven turn of phrase," Solas remarked as they made their way up one of the smaller hills. For a moment, Marga couldn't answer him, the pain shooting through her arm again. She shouted at her hand, telling the Dread Wolf to end it. Solas knelt and helped her up.

"Ny gala nadas," Solas reassured her, holding her steady for a moment. They carried on up the hill and it was only at the top that Marga remembered the question he and asked.

"What do you know of the Dalish?"

"I've crossed paths with your people from time to time," Solas remarked, almost disinterested.

"Are they not your people too?" Marga questioned, having to hoist herself up over broken steps with a rock, the others doing the same. Solas's hand slipped and Marga grabbed his arm, pulling him up with them. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Varric giving Cassandra a very peculiar look. Solas gave her a fleeting smiled, brushing himself off,

"The Dalish I encountered seemed to think otherwise."

"Can't you elves play nice for once?" Varric grumbled. Marga decided she would ask Solas later, what he had meant. She supposed if he was an apostate he had once been a city elf who's magic had materialised when he was a boy. She'd heard plenty from passing apostates, whom her clan would sometimes harbour, about how they were hidden away from everyone or taken by the circle almost immediately. Marga shivered involuntarily and decided to forget about it. She could ask later. 

The mark came again and Marga fought it but still found she had to stop and shake, stop it from bringing her to her knees.

"Shit, are you alright?" Varric asked, looking at her with concern. Marga looked at him, fighting the mark had brought tears to her eyes and she had no words for him. Solas took her hand and did...something to it. It dulled the pain but her entire forearm ached, and she could still feel it as if it were wriggling around in her hand. This time, he was more frank,

"My magic can't stop the mark from going much further, for your sake, I suggest we hurry."

"It's not far," Cassandra mumbled, even she looked concerned for Marga. She led the way now, Varric bringing up the rear and Solas beside Marga. He was watching her with his careful eyes, for any sign that she might collapse again. Varric continued to quiz her as they moved through the snow and the hills what appeared to be a fort was built on. He asked if she was innocent and she was honest, she couldn't remember what had happened. He laughed and told her to spin a story would have stopped them trying to kill her, hardly earning Cassandra's approval. 

They came to the top of the hill where there were yet more demons, Marga doing what she could to help but finding herself growing weaker by the moment. She froze one demon before Cassandra grabbed her and forced something down her throat, she placed a hand over her mouth, forcing Marga to swallow it.

"It'll help, you're injured, and the mark isn't helping. Come on. I hope Leliana made it through all this..."

"She's resourceful, so is your friend, Marga."

"We'll see for ourselves, the camp isn't far." Solas joined Marga again, all too aware of her state and there would be more demons. She wanted to thank him, instead, she was given another potion and a smattering of ice, melted, falling down on her head. She shouted in protest, her mother used to do that to her when she didn't get up. Solas said nothing, staying beside her and focusing on getting to the camp.

All that stood between them and the camp was another rift.

Marga had more energy to fight and this time, she stepped with ease, ice coming from her staff. _Her_ staff, she supposed her actual staff had been destroyed along with the rest of the Conclave and its attendants. Shame, it had been one of the gifts from her mother Marga had been grateful for. She had to fight to remember the steps and where her feet went to get the right amount of mana to fill the staff and too many times she was saved by one of the others, a foot in the wrong place. 

"Seal it, quickly," Solas shouted, striking a wraith. Marga guessed and ran to the shift, doing as Solas had done before and pushed her hand into it, feeling it writhe beneath her fingers again. She closed them tight as if she were gripping something, it wriggled and tried to tear itself free. Then, she let it go and its burst of energy made it collapse, the rift was gone. 

"We're clear for the moment," Solas assured Marga, taking gentle hold of her arm as she swayed, steadying her again, "well done, Marga." He let go of her and they carried on, into the forward camp, Varric remarking on the usefulness of her hand. She looked down at it for a moment. It better be useful rather than just killing her slowly, or fast, considering the breach had grown at an alarming rate since she had first laid eyes on it.

A more pressing matter was the people ahead of them; a chantry member and Leliana. Leliana tried to introduce Marga but the man cut her off. Soon he and Cassandra were arguing, Vahra had managed to slink by and join them, raising eyebrows. All considered it a miracle Cassandra didn't pull her blade on the man. The arguing grew louder and louder until Marga found herself interjecting.

"What about the breach?" Marga demanded, "isn't closing that the more pressing issue?" 

"You were the one who brought it on us in the first place," Chancellor Roderick hissed.

They gave Marga the choice, either to go through the mountains or to go for the safer route, it would take longer but fewer people would die. Marga would have answered by the sky cracked again and she gripped her arm,

"Now you're asking for _my_ opinion?" She demanded in frustration, trying not to let the mark take her. Solas used his magic on her arm again, his words of warning about hurrying in her mind. 

"You have the mark."

"And we seem unable to decide amongst ourselves," Cassandra added. 

"Then I say we charge," Marga answered, still holding her arm, "I doubt I'm going to last long enough for your trial," she spat, looking at Chancellor Roderick, "what happens, happens now."

They made their way through the mountains with care and though he had appeared distant now, Solas still watched Marga with care. Cassandra and Varric remained in their positions, looking out for anything that might come for them or sneak up on them. Cassandra had sent Vahra on ahead, telling her that she needed to get to wherever Cullen and Marietta were - whoever they were. Marga didn't care at this point, she wanted this to be over. She was exhausted. 

Over the mountain, they came down into a small town, mostly filled with who she assumed to be soldiers. Bodies. So many bodies. They had little time to think of them, however, instead preoccupied with the sounds of demons and men fighting. Cassandra ran on, the others fighting to keep up with her - it wasn't just Marga who was tired anymore. None of them had been trained for this. It was another rift, whatever it spewed out being attacked by soldiers, one who whom wore armour that put him above others.

They helped, fire coming from somewhere else, burning the demons who weren't frozen with ice. With the demons gone, it came naturally this time, for Marga to run to the rift and push her hand into it, crush it and collapse it. it didn't tire her out as much, it didn't hurt as much. Still, Solas appeared by her side and looked at her for any sign of her imminent crumpling.

"Sealed, just as before, you're becoming quite proficient at this." Marga almost thanked him when Varric interjected,

"Let's hope it works on the big one." 

"Lady Cassandra," called a voice, "you managed to seal the rift." Marga turned to see a blond man, curls surrounding his head, the same who she assumed was of higher station. Beside him stood a woman; raven hair almost hiding her face, tall, almost too slender to be real - the Trevelayn woman. Marga said nothing and prayed the woman didn't recognise her.

"Do not congratulate me, commander," Cassandra sighed, "it was the prisoner's doing." 

"Oh! So Solas was right, impressive, especially for an apostate," the Trevelayn woman remarked, appearing to be utterly astounded.

"Hello to you too, Marietta," Solas even smiled, the Trevelayn woman huffed at him. 

"I hope they're right about you," Cullen said, looking straight at Marga, "we've lost a lot of men getting you here." 

"We'll see soon enough," Marga sighed, she didn't know what answer to give him. Solas glanced at her but she couldn't help but noticed the Trevelayn woman's gaze on him, though she quickly snapped away when Marga noticed her. Cullen told Cassandra that the way to the temple ought to be clear and that Leliana would meet them there. 

"Maker watch over you - for all our sakes," he added in a grim voice before leaving them, calling over his shoulder, "come, help me, Marietta." She then turned and followed him glancing back a few times before helping him with the wounded.

"She did not like you," Varric remarked to Solas as the made their way towards the temple.

"Circle mages tend not to like apostates, it happens," Solas shrugged.

"She's a circle mage?" Marga asked. They were getting closer to the temple now, her hand told her that much. 

"Marietta Trevelyan is a mage from a prestigious family who makeup half the templars in Ferelden and are unfortunately related to us," Cassandra answered, "Marietta herself showed potential with magic from a young age, she likes to stick her fingers in all the pies. The circles collapsed and she played both sides through her Templar relatives and close relationship with the most official of the rebels. She's still an apostate, but only in name."

"How did she not die in the Conclave?" Marga asked they were just outside the temple now, the smell of burnt flesh told her rather than her hand.

"She had the brains to stay away, brains or, gaining favour with some nobleman," Cassandra grumbled.

"Sounds like don't much like her, Seeker," Varric grinned.

"Quiet." 

They came up to the temple, and Marga was quick to pull the scarf around her neck over her nose. The worst thing was the smell of death, as pungent as this, was familiar to her. The burning, the pain, the suffering. Couldn't the blast have killed her too? Marga dropped down into the temple, the others following, also covering their faces. 

They passed countless who had died in the temple when the explosion had happened, making their way onto a balcony, level with the Rift. They inspected it form this distance, looking for ways to get to it when Leliana joined them. Cassandra was quick to give out orders and before Marga really knew what she was doing she was running down the side walkway, watching the rift for anything that it spat out. Along the way they passed red crystals, forming out of the rock face. 

"You see that?" Varric asked, "it's Red Lyrium."

"I know Varric," Cassandra hissed. Varric shivered and warned everyone that they mustn't touch the stuff, or it would affect them. Another question for later, Marga was starting to feel hopeful that she wasn't going to die. Still, it weighed on her a little and she almost laughed a the thought of someone removing her arm so they could carry on closing rifts. She wasn't sure why it was funny. 

The rift in the centre was like the others she had come across since she had awoken, strange to think it had been the first - there was nothing else special about it. 

"That's a long way up," Marga mumbled, looking up at the rift, she might have whatever that was on her arm but she couldn't reach that surely. Her arm pulsed with green and she lifted it, a bolt of green lightning flying from her hand and hitting the rift. Solas pulled her back, putting her arm down.

"Don't."

"Now is the hour of our victory, bring forth the sacrifice." A voice boomed around the temple, Leliana rejoining them. 

"What are we hearing?"

"Likely whoever it was who created the breach," Solas answered, still keeping Marga's arm firmly by her side. Even as he held her hand, more sparked from it and the rift began to change, fade crystals shrinking and new ones appearing.

"Someone! Help me!" 

"What's happening?" Another voice screamed, shaking Marga to her core. Her voice. She looked at Cassandra who returned her wide-eyed look of horror.

"That was your voice, most holy called out to _you_." Marga couldn't believe it either and none of it was coming back, the more she learnt the less she seemed to remember. A flash of white light and forced knocked them back and above them a ghostly figure of the Divine, appearing suspended by...by something, loomed over by a red form. Marga's voice came again, this time accompanied by a white form. She was crouching, holding her head, what looked like blood coming from under her hair. 

"Run! Run while you still can! Warn them!"

"We have an intruder, slay the elf." The same voice boomed. Another flash of white light followed, this time it didn't throw them back. Instead, Cassandra was in front of Marga, holding her shoulders, demanding an explanation from her. Solas was looking up at the rift, inspecting it, while Marga protested again that she couldn't remember anything - if anything she remembered less. 

"The Fade bleeds into this place," Solas remarked, turning to them, "this rift is not sealed, but it is closed. If it is reopened it could be sealed permanently and safely. However, that will likely attract attention from...elsewhere."

"That means demons," Cassandra nodded to Leliana, "stand ready." 

"Do as you did before, the lightening," Solas instructed Marga. She lifted her pulsing hand, letting the power within guide itself. The crystals above her shattered, opening the rift, light expelling as Marga backed away, her staff ready. It no longer mattered how tired she was, she had no choice but to help close this now - she had opened it after all and there would be little to redeem herself with if it was left. 

What spilt out of the rift was a vile creature, looming over them, grey-skinned and armoured by its own design it stomped around the ruins of the temple. Everything they threw at it seemed halfway to pointless. Cassandra weaved in and out of its legs, slashing it, while Varric punctured it with as many crossbow bolts as he could manage. Marga and Solas froze it in place, only for it to shatter the ice with ease. 

Cassandra ran out from under its legs, beating her shield, getting the demon's attention. It turned to her and growled, a growl that turned into a roar and she only beat at her shield more. Varric and Leliana shot at it as fast as they could and Solas put all his might into the keeping the beast still, allowing the others to attack it. Marga slipped away from them and behind the beast, she lifted her hand again. This time, the power came to her naturally and she crushed it in her hand. The rift exploded again, it didn't close but it startled the beast and she joined them in attacking the beast again. 

It grew weaker each time Marga was offered the time to attack the rift, and they would beat it with all they had before it would get back up again and Marga would have to crush the energy of the rift in her hand. All the time her forearm remained numb and on the fifth attempt, the beast barely moving, she swayed as the rift exploded. The beast fell that time and Marga only had to reach up and close the rift entirely. 

The force of the rift closing shot up into the sky, a blinding flash of light hitting them and the force of it throwing everyone. Marga hit the floor and stayed there. Everything hurt. Her arm ached, pulsing up into her shoulder. Her vision had gone fuzzy. Someone was calling her name. Vahra? Was it Vahra? A gentle voice told her she was still alive as something washed over her. It was nice, calming. Someone held her, lifted her from the ground. 

Everything went black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ny gala nadas - you have nothing to fear


	4. New Horizon

For the first time in years, Marga dreamed of the forest she had visited as a child. Old, ancient trees surrounded her, things moving the bushes and birds cawed in the treetops. She was dressed in clothes she didn't recognise; feeling neither familiar nor alien. She had the forest, that's all she needed to feel familiar. There was no dull ache in her forearm, no deathly feeling in the air. Just the forest. 

Something moved behind her and she spun around, scattering leaves. Behind the leaves was a wolf, pure white, aside from the gash down its side. It licked at its wound, padding over to Marga. She knelt and held its head, stroking its ears gently. The animal whimpered and pressed against her chest. Marga scratched its ears and looked at the wound. It wasn't deep, but the blood-red on white fur made the animal look more hurt than it was.

"Why are you back after all these years?" Marga asked, rubbing her forehead against the wolf's crown. "why now? I have missed you." She had missed the wolf, it hadn't kept her safe from demons all these years, why would it come back now. Marga stood and it padded around her, moving its head to lick its gash. She stood there, wolf wrapped around her legs, staff in hand in those clothes she didn't recognise. Did the fade want something from her? To torment her with an old friend for stopping it bleeding into this world?

The wolf growled and Marga snapped awake, finding her eyes staring up at a ceiling. It was made of wooden panels, permanent, unlike the ones she had stared up at all her life. For a split second her head pulsed and she was forced to shut her eyes again. Even the soft light of the cabin stung them and it took far too long for her to open them again. Off in the distance, she could have sworn she heard a howl. 

"You're awake?" A voice asked, Marga, cracking an eye open and confirming it was indeed Vahra, her Sylaise marked face grinning at her from the door, "you have talked some nonsense over the last few days, demons, few things about Mythal, you've been bumbling about the dread wolf enough to make poor Solas runaway. Good job I know he haunts your dreams."

"Haunted," Marga corrected, she decided not to tell Vahra what she had just dreamt of, "I've seen no wolves in my dreams for a long time." 

"Well, you told the Dread Wolf to take Solas so many times he goes pale at the mention," Vahra grinned, "well...paler, strange-looking one he is, no vallaslin, is he a city elf?"

"Why are you asking me?" Marga grumbled, sitting up, rubbing her head, "I've been out for..." she looked up at Vahra, The other elf counted on her fingers before answering.

"Three days." 

"Gods," Marga mumbled, "are they alright? Those who were with me in the temple?"

"They're fine, a little shaken, but who fights a pride demon and isn't," Vahra shrugged, "you're in Haven, little human pilgrimage town we stopped off at before heading to that temple you destroyed."

"Vahra, I didn't destroy the temple," Marga groaned.

"Try telling that to Roderick," the left corner of Vahra's mouth was pushed together in a moulded grimace. That Chancellor was still here? Marga rested her head on her knees for a moment. What she wouldn't give to be back in the Free Marches now. Vahra came over to her and pulled her up onto her feet. 

"Come on, it's best you see Lady Cassandra and Leliana sooner rather than later," Vahra grumbled, "Cassandra will throw a fit if she knows I've let you rest up too long before speaking, she _really_ wants to get rid of Roderick." Marga didn't say anything, instead just following Vahra out of the hut and into the town. 

It was a lively place, filled with people who had called it home for generations and those who had only just arrived. It fit its name; Haven. There was a tavern, a blacksmith, everything a little town needed, along with an intrinsic religious connection. The commander she had met when they were making their way to temple nodded to her as they passed him. Cullen, that was his name. Not far from him, standing on a wall, was the mage Marietta Treveylan, preoccupied with the view from Haven. Varric too, who raised his hand in greeting and Solas, whom they passed telling stories to the village's children, an old story Marga recognised from her childhood. 

"Remarkable that they're not scared of him," Vahra muttered to Marga.

"Is that a hint?"

"I'm saying nothing."

"Oh, you're saying plenty," Marga rolled her eyes, "I will not pursue a man just because he kept me alive, I'm grateful to him but it's not how I intend to repay him." 

"Sure, sure," Vahra grinned, "also because one of the little shits called me knife ear before but they all love Solas!" Vahra threw her hands up as they approached the chantry of Haven, "Cassandra and Leliana are at the end of the hall, and so is Roderick. Enjoy." Vahra disappeared, running off to wherever else she was needed. Marga supposed it was a good thing, Vahra was far better at adapting to things than she was. While Marga would find herself lost in all she had brought with her when the clan up and moved Vahra would always be ready, mixing something, appearing with tea and telling her and Deshanna to get a move on. Marga smiled, oh to be back there. 

At the end of the hall Cassandra, Leliana and Roderick were indeed waiting for her and the moment Marga entered the room, Roderick called for her arrest. Cassandra overruled it, immediately. Marga listened to them argue as if she wasn't there. Leliana watched her with a sad smile on her face. She'd heard of the woman before, she'd been a companion of the Sabrae woman who had played an integral role in ending the last blight. Pity, she'd died fighting that archdemon. 

"I did all I could," Marga finally snapped, "the breach is sealed, temporarily, or so I'm told." Cassandra, it seemed, had also had enough. She dropped a book in front of Roderick and leant on it. She had eyes that pierced your soul and it seemed Roderick was now at the tip of her sword. 

"Do you know what this is?" She hissed at the Chancellor, "a directive from the Divine, allowing us to act." Her eyes went to Marga but the piercing gaze stayed. It was going to take work to get her to trust her. 

"From today, I declare the Inquisition of old active once again."

Roderick scoffed and left them at that, really it seemed he could do nothing to counter Cassandra's actions. The Divine might have been dead but it seemed her words still stood. Good, then maybe they could get out of this. Still, the inquisition wasn't something Marga had heard of, even with her clan's contact with humans. What was it?

"They preceded the Chantry," Leliana explained, "they formed to end the chaos and then when that was done, they formed the Templars." She glanced at Cassandra, who was still watching the retreating back of Roderick with a glare, "however, we have no numbers and no leader." However, her soft eyes were on Marga as she said the word leader. 

"Not officially," Cassandra muttered, "Leliana, have someone tail him." 

"Of course," Leliana nodded, "you look confused, Marga."

"Isn't this still part of the chantry, how do they fell about, well me?" Marga asked, "this inquisition may have no leader but word will spread about me and the mark, as well as the two of you, and Varric and Solas at the temple. As far as the Chantry are concerned, at least 2 of those are heretics and three of them are some degree are criminal."

"The chantry will take time to find a new Divine and then will have to wait for the direction she takes," Leliana answered.

"We cannot afford to wait," Cassandra affirmed, "until then, we are on our own, that maybe forever. What's important is that the mark and the breach are stable. Solas believes that with a second attempt it may be sealed entirely but the magic matching that of what opened it is hard to come by." 

"Well, it should be fun at least," Marga sighed, "what harm could there be in powering up something we barely know anything about." Leliana smiled and then went to consult one of her men, likely telling them to follow Roderick around. Cassandra even laughed a little,

"Hold onto that sense of humour. We will meet later, all of us, I need to introduce you properly to the others."

"Then I'll make myself at home," Marga sighed, "seen as I presume this is home until the breach is closed, or the Chantry kills me for a crime I didn't commit." Marga smiled at Cassandra who nodded to her, a small smile on her stern face. Maybe it wouldn't be too hard, Cassandra had taken a liking to her - at least, it seemed that way. Before Marga could leave Cassandra called to her and reassured her.

"We won't let that happen, for everyone's sake." 

Marga made her way out into the village, watching everyone as they passed her. Strange, to think a few days ago it probably felt like the world was going to end for these people. Anything that could have caused trouble seemed not to find the Lavellan easily, during the blight Marga had been a young woman and any demons that came by them were killed quickly by the best hunters they had. Grey wardens would sometimes find them and help them but it was rare and Lavellan moved around so much it didn't matter. If they kept their distance they were safe. 

"Roderick does not like you at all," Vahra remarked, seeming to appear out of nowhere.

"He thinks I killed the Divine, that this is some convoluted plan to end the world," Marga groaned, "if anyone has that plan it's not me. I've even been missing mother."

"About that," Vahra sighed. Marga whirled around, frowning at Vahra. She had become small and was clasping her hands together in front of her. She wouldn't look at Marga, looking at the ground away from her, "Marga, a rift opened near where we were camped, your mother is dead; Deshanna is keeper now." 

Marga found herself sat on the ground. Mother? Dead? No. That couldn't be right. It couldn't it couldn't it couldn't. Her mother was with the rest of Lavellen, alive, well, their Keeper, speaking her best elvish to Deshanna who tried her best to learn. There was preparation in place for Deshanna to become first, they were prepared for if Marga didn't come back but mother. Vahra knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

She had attracted attention, many of the townsfolk watching her - she could see Varric, watching her from the fire he was stood at. Concerned. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. Leader or not, you are this organisations face. You can't cry. She couldn't stop herself and Marga descended into tears, she wasn't even sure why she was crying. Her mother had made her life miserable, had put the responsibility on her because she knew Marga would never live up to it and now she was all alone, outnumbered and destined to save the world. 

Marga desperately wiped her eyes, looking up to see a small boy. He had waddled to her, he couldn't have been more than three, holding out his toy to her. It was a little green dragon, slobbered on in excess and worn down as every good toy was. 

"Thank you," Marga smiled as the boy put his dragon in her lap when she didn't take it, there were still tears running down her face. 

"Hug him," the small boy commanded, "he helps." Marga hugged the slobbery dragon, smiling at the boy. It did help. The boy held his hands out for the dragon and took him off Marga, running away to where his mother waited for him. His mother gave Marga a petrified nod and quickly departed with the boy. Vahra pulled her up off the ground.

"You turned some heads," Vahra grinned, Varric was still looking at them, Marietta watching them from the roof she was on and Solas had been distracted from his story by the exchange, "I'd say you're ready to take on the world, Herald of Andraste." 

"Herald of what?"

"You heard me, come on." 


	5. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dar'atisha - Go in peace  
> Falon'Din juam nas'es'var - Falon'Din guide their soul  
> Falon'Din juam nas'mar, lanalin - Falon'Din guide your soul, mother

Marietta sighed, she'd been sat on this roof all day and she'd managed nothing. Nothing useful had come to mind and her legs were frozen under the black robe she wore. She looked down to see the Apostate looking up at her. She groaned, waiting for him to join her on the roof. He did so, sitting with his legs dangling off the edge of the building. 

"You'd be better sleeping, magic comes from the Fade," Solas sighed, "you really should try it sometime, meditating only gets you halfway."

"The fade is a dangerous place for those who aren't used to it," Marietta sighed, "though I appreciate your advice, apostate." She looked at him but he wasn't looking at her, instead, he was watching the elven girl who it seemed was destined to become their leader of whatever this haphazard mishmash of people was. Hopefully, it could save the world. 

"What do you think of her?" 

"She's strong-willed," Marietta answered, raising her eyebrows at the back of Solas's head, "which is good, she seems to be able to handle whatever that thing is on her hand and you thought all the Dalish were weak savages."

"My opinions were...misplaced," Solas sighed, "though it doesn't change my opinion all that much, one of a flock does not make the farm prosper." Marietta laughed,

"Human proverb sounds strange coming from an elf."

"Have I offended you?"

"Not at all, quite the opposite. It'll help you fit in." Solas smiled at Marietta but she wasn't looking and then bid her farewell, leaving her on the roof alone. She was more preoccupied with the horizon again, feeling all her mind's pain. Her brother was dead, gone, her parents were somewhere but she didn't know where and probably never would, at least not for a while. She'd spent all those years in the circle and they'd never once written to her. How sad. 

Solas was right, she'd be better off sleeping. 

Marietta got down from the building, nodding to the elf as she passed him. She'd have to stop doing that, for now. She made her way across the courtyard, smiling at Varric as she passed him. She did like the dwarf. The way he spun stories was delightfully entertaining and he was kind, there weren't many she could say were outright kind here, not even in this little village so far from everything. 

Everything was new. The crunch of snow beneath her feet, the gentle, cold air blowing, moving her hair this way and that when it got strong. The clothes. The clothes were strange, the black robe fit her nicely but there was something about it. Just something that she didn't like. Was this some apostate costume, or was it for ease? Was it all they had? Marietta had spent her earliest years in luxury and that hadn't changed when the magic and the circle came for her, Treveylans lived well, especially with a templar brother in the circle's ranks. They never wrote to him either. 

"Something troubling you?" Asked a voice. Marietta turned to see the other Dalish elf who had joined their ranks at the Conclave. She hadn't been present, though the shiny new wound on her side that Marietta had worked at to heal told everyone she had felt the blast. She'd dived straight into scouting, helping all she could. Commendable, if perhaps stupid, Marietta had taken a little more convincing. 

"Nothing that would concern you," Marietta brushed her off. 

"You aren't going to get very far like that," Vahra remarked, raising her eyebrows, "people who offer help want to give it." 

"And I need none of it," Marietta smiled as she turned around, "once I can get out of I here I fully intend to. Tell me elf, your face?"

"Excuse me?" Vahra snapped.

"Your face has markings, it's a Dalish tradition, isn't it?" Marietta asked, "what does it mean?" Vahra didn't seem quite sure what to make of the question or the woman who had asked it. She had interacted with her a little more than Marga had, and she considered it a misfortune. The Commander was accommodating, if a little distrustful but Vahra had been warned he might be like that, he'd been a templar and the distrust had been hammered into him relentlessly, yet it seemed that Marietta, a circle mage turned apostate by circumstance, had little reason to be as such.

"It is a Dalish tradition, it's for one of our gods," Vahra answered, her only uncertainty taking the words from her mouth, "mine is for Sylaise, goddess of the hearth."

"And Marga?"

"Mythal, mother Goddess," Vahra wasn't sure why she was answering but the mage's face _changed_. She went from looking almost disinterested in her own questions to wide-eyed as if thrown off. She spoke the name of the mother goddess, each syllable leaving her tongue, oozing with interest and something Vahra couldn't quite place. She watched the mage, frowning at her, not sure what to make of her. 

"I'd like to know more, about the Dalish, if you have the time," Marietta asked, her voice softer, "I should apologise, for the way I've treated you since we met. Vahra was utterly lost. Was this woman mad? Had she seen something? Had a knock to the head in between hearing the word Mythal and the rest of her life? 

"I'm sure I could tell you something..." Vahra remarked, "you're better asking Marga, she was our first."

"First?"

"Our Keeper, the first and the second work to preserve the elven culture, Marga was first, she knows a great deal. Has a good grasp of the language too, if you're interested in that," Vahra shrugged, "though it seems that apostate knows more, somehow, you don't tend to see Dalish without Vallaslin."

"Solas isn't Dalish," Marietta remarked, though it sounded more like a question, "he doesn't seem to be either to me."

"Which is why he's strange," Vahra folded her arms and looked around Marietta, frowning at the elf who had made his home all the way across the village, then she spotted the commander coming, "oh, here comes Cullen, it appears we stolen his desk...thingy." 

Marietta turned around and smiled at the commander, he returned it, if a little hesitantly. Vahra had slinked off by the time Cullen got to them, leaving only Marietta there. He looked at something on his desk, Marietta watching him, curious as to what he was doing and very much able to tell that he had something to say to her. Cullen looked up at her for a moment and then back down at his work.

"We're gathering people," he sighed, "Cassandra has asked if there's any mages you know who aren't rebels but would join us, if you do then you're to contact them and see if they will join us. I've been tasked with signs." 

"You don't exactly sound thrilled with that commander," Marietta remarked, "I can help if you'd like."

"No, thank you, but no, Marietta," Cullen sighed, "though, I shall keep your offer in mind. Meanwhile, I think you best go speak to Marga, Cassandra has encouraged an expedition into the Hinterlands, Marga wants you to go with her, along with Solas and Varric. She would have taken Cassandra but she needs to be here to deal with Roderick until this business is over and to train people who come our way - why I can't do that I don't know." 

"That's strange," Marietta remarked, looking at the woman as she emerged from the chantry, "why would she want me to go? Why not take Vahra?"

"Cassandra thinks you'll have some hand with apostates, convince them at least not to kill you, maybe to even join us," Cullen explained, "I still say we'd be better off with Templars but I would, I was one, I know what they can do." 

Marietta recalled a memory, stood in her circle, watching her Templar brother. He was shaking, trying to do something but whatever was in his hand was dropped. He looked up at her and his eyes were all sunken back, he was scruffy, he didn't look like a templar at all. She glanced at Cullen again, who was waiting for an answer.

"We might be better working together if we could do that in circles why can't we do it now," Marietta sighed, "though perhaps saying we worked together in circles might be called a lie by some." Cullen tipped his head in acknowledgement before Marietta bid him farewell. She reminded him of her offer to help, which he reminded her that he would remember. She smiled and then made her way up to the chantry where Marga was waiting.

She was so...small. To think she held all that power in her hand, literally, it was quite astonishing that she had lived at all. Then again, elves were smaller than humans, Marietta stood a good few inches taller, had she always been this tall? 

"You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, it's about the apostates, I assume the commander told you that I wish for you to accompany me into the Hinterlands," Marga answered.

"You or Cassandra?" Marietta questioned, "I can try what she thinks but I don't know how much use I will be, I hasten to remind you - as it seems everyone knows now - I didn't exactly believe in the circles rebelling, I took part because I'd rather an enemy killed me than a friend." _Unless it was a brother_. Marietta almost hushed the voice in her head aloud, just holding it back. 

"Well, we'll need all the help we can get, and I confess I feel somewhat sager in the company of mages," Marga explained, " you seem somewhat kinder to us, though if what Vahra told me that's not exactly true. Do you have a problem with me, Lady Trevelyan? The marks on my face?"

"Not at all," Marietta answered, she didn't dare smile though she wanted to, "I have simply grown up in a place where people are brash to get answers. I apologise."

"These circles don't sound very nurturing places to be," Marga remarked, "I learnt magic from my mother and other mages in my clan."

"Well, while it might be preferable to be taught by a parent, I couldn't be, neither of my parents manifested any magic," Marietta sighed, "my father and my brother, Maker rest him, were both Templars and my mother was...I don't know what she was."

"Did you lose her?"

"No, no, but while you were being taught how to magically light fires I was being taken away by the circle to be trained by teachers," Marietta sighed, giving Marga a hard look, "actually, you might not even have had any magic by then, how old are you Marga, if you don't mind the intrusion." 

"Not at all," Marga shook her head, "I turned twenty-seven a few months ago."

"Twenty-seven, goodness me," Marietta muttered, "yes when your mother was still singing you to sleep I accidentally flooded the kitchen, you're seven years younger than me, I'm certainly no spring chicken anymore." Marietta smiled at Marga, realising they had walked to the edge of the town.

"Marietta, have you ever seen a nug?"

"A what?" Marietta asked, "those funny little piggy-rabbit things?" Marietta asked, "I've been out in the wilds for a year, I've seen plenty, though if you're suggesting I didn't get to see much the world you'd be right. The circle liked how I interacted with other students, kept me after my harrowing to teach."

"What's a harrowing like?" Marga asked, pulling herself up onto the wall, looking down on Marietta. 

"Terrifying, if you're afraid of demons," Marietta shrugged, "they like to trick you with them, catch you off guard. Weed out the ones they really don't want who missed being made tranquil."

"You said your brother was a Templar, were you in the same circle?"

"We were," Marietta smiled, "he was the one who drew the lot to kill me if I became possessed; they really were a delightful bunch weren't they, starting to wish my mother was an elf like yours. What's your mother like?"

"Cold-hearted bitch," Marga answered, "well, she was and she wasn't. My father...my father disappeared, I was quite young and they told me he'd been killed during a hunt, wild animal or something, but she seemed to blame me. She put me in power to punish me, she knew I hated it, dubbed me as her successor knowing that I'd immediately hand it over to Deshanna. She'd relentlessly bring up my love of stories, even into my adulthood, all because the story I asked her to tell was of Fen'Harel." Marga paused, "I'm sorry, that might not mean anything to you."

"I'm afraid it doesn't," Marietta admitted. _Liar_. 

"Fen'Harel, trickster god, I don't know any human equivalent," Marga explained, "it's not that I liked Fen'Harel but he was interesting." Marga sighed, "she died when the rifts opened. While I was here, a rift opened not far away from where my people were, and she died." Marga jumped down from the wall and found herself very unexpectedly in Marietta's arms. The older woman held her gently and whispered that she was sorry. For a moment she faltered, the I strange before she repeated herself, telling her that she was sorry. A slip up with the common tongue no doubt.

"What do elves say to put a soul to rest?"

"Dar'atisha. Falon'Din juam nas'es'var," Marga answered, "Falon'Din juam nas'mar, lanalin."


	6. The Hinterlands

It took three days to travel within a reasonable distance of Redcliffe and they weren't going there, not yet. Along the road, they had come across a mix of apostates, templars, bandits and refugees. The refugees they sent onto Haven, the more people they had the better, the bandits they cut down and took their coin in all their glorious irony, the templars attacked them and gave them little choice. The mages were different.

A few recognised Marietta outright; it appeared she had shown her face outside of the Ostwick circle for longer than the year since it had been destroyed. Some would recognise her name, question her, demand what she was doing. Most had no idea who she was. Very few of them were talked round by the Trevelyan woman, most attacked them.

"They seem to have gone mad with power," Solas remarked over the body of one, he seemed to care little for striking down the mages despite his voicing support for them, "strange."

"You all still alright up in those heads of yours," Varric grinned, getting a smile from Marga. She liked the dwarf. Cassandra had recommended she take him with her, of course, but that was just to get Varric out of her hair. Marga didn't quite understand why she was so frosty when it came to the dwarf but she was sure she'd be told in due time. Varric's books had even crossed a few Dalish hands, particularly those like the Lavellan who interacted with humans so often. Marga had spent a good part of one of the mornings trying to remember where she'd seen Varric's name before.

_"Solas, how come you know so much elvhen, you said you were an apostate"_

_"I have my ways"_

_"Oh! Mysterious!"_

_"I merely like to read, Marietta."_

_"You could have just said that."_

After the third day, they came upon a camp, clambering up a hill to get to it. Waiting for them was a dwarf who introduced herself as Scout Harding. She told them about the area and directed them to the farm Cullen had mentioned to Marga; after that walk, they were all begging for horses.

"The fighting between mages and templars has been bad here," Harding continued, "be careful, seen as three of you are mages."

"Well ain't I glad dwarves can't do magic," Varric grinned, throwing his Crossbow onto his shoulder, "although they probably think I'm a trader or ask for my autograph."

"Trader?" Marietta asked.

"Especially if it's Templars," Varric shrugged, "dwarves are the ones who supply the Lyrium, the good kind. Not that red stuff that's in the Temple." Varric shivered, "anyway, how about we rest up, I've got little legs, they only carry me so far." Everyone agreed with Varric's suggestion. All collapsed around the fire and were glad of the ram they were given, all aware of the sun setting. Varric told them stories but Solas was quick to disappear, so he could sleep and go into the Fade.

"Does he really spend all his time in there?" Marga asked, frowning at the tent Solas had gone into.

"Yeah, when you were brink of death he spent most of the time looking after you, the rest of it he spent asleep," Varric answered, "Cassandra looked like she was going to kill him almost as much as she did me." Marga laughed lightly, Marietta was staring at the setting sun.

"He was looking for something, trying to find out what was going on with your hand," Marietta explained, "none of us thought he'd find anything but at least he had the bright idea of your hand closing rifts. I wonder if the breach has done anything to his dreams..." Marietta stood then, looking as if she'd said too much. She went to sit alone, her legs dangling off the edge of the hill, watching the sun. Marga and Varric both decided to leave her alone, both departing for their beds.

Marietta sat for a while, watching the sun. _Go, sleep my child_ the voice in her mind whispered in her ear. Bed did sound inviting but despite the last three days, sleeping on the cold floor with little between her and the ground, being woken by one of the others to take watch when she'd barely slept at all, she didn't feel like sleeping. The Fade wasn't as inviting as Solas seemed to find it. _Sleep, sleep, my child, it shall make tomorrow come quicker._ Marietta gave in, _she_ was right.

They awoke the next morning, late into it, all groggy from getting too much sleep. Over a fire they ate bread and more ram meat, drinking water or tea that had a strange aroma about it, something wasn't quite right about boiling tea over cooked ram meat. Ram meat. Ram meat. Ram meat. Marga felt like her head was going to explode if she had to think about the stupid animals one more time, let alone eat one.

"Serah!" A voice called, addressing Marga directly, "Templars are attacking the refugees." Marga was quick to grab her staff, abandon her breakfast and shake off the grogginess she felt. The others followed suit and a few others joined them, running down to the small hamlet that had become a haven for refugees hoping to go elsewhere. Harding called to her from a distance that she would find the chantry sister wishing to speak to Marga there.

Apostates and Templars. Marga tried not to complain aloud when she spotted them, as long as the mark didn't go crazy and incapacitate her mid-fight it would be fine. Everything would be just _fine._ It appeared she had not shaken off all the grog from the sleep she'd had but enough so that she had been able to ignore it. These were by no means easy foes; they weren't like the lone men who came to kill as many Dalish as they could for fun.

With Marga and Solas's ice, Marietta's fire and Bianca they fought off those who wished to do harm and those they didn't kill were relentlessly pursued by soldiers who seemed to appear from nowhere. Leliana's people most likely. Waiting for them was Mother Giselle, the chantry sister they'd been told about. She was a gentle woman and a brave one, tending to the wounded even as they fought off the remaining templars and mages. While Marga spoke to the sister, Solas and Marietta assisted in tending to the wounded and Varric helped pull things from one of the houses that had been set ablaze.

"She's telling her to go to Val Royeaux," Marietta remarked, "that should be fun." Solas looked at her, questioning but not saying a word. "It's the secular capital, have you not heard of it?" Solas glared at her for a second, "alright, alright, I know, stupid question. Secular capital but there's lost of chantry presence there, it's the seat of the divine."

"Not very secular," Solas remarked, "you humans are strange."

"There's a university there, I've been once, as a child, I imagine it's different now," Marietta sighed, "you wouldn't like it there, the alienage is horrible. Lots and lots of o - your people, living in a place about as big as a market." Solas grunted in response, instead busying himself with caring for the injured. Marietta followed suit. What a horrible memory to have. All those people cooped up like that.

"What did she say?" Marietta asked, looking up at Marga who had come to join them, she was no use for healing people, not yet anyway.

"Marietta what can you tell me about Val Royeaux, Cassandra mentioned your family are very devout." Marietta sighed, standing up straight. For a moment she wasn't sure how to answer that. Were they really that devout? Did people see them like that, just because they had so many Templars in their line?

"Well, it's nothing like the Free Marches you and I know," Marietta sighed, "from what I remember it's full of posh Orlesians who like to argue, sometimes they even question if the Maker is real or not." Marga almost laughed.

"To some, he isn't."

"Yourself included I presume, " Marietta sighed, "sometimes I wish I knew more of the Elven gods. Now, back to your point, there's not much to Val Royeaux, but you should be careful. Ask Leliana and Josephine when we get back, they know more than me."

Once they had helped the refugees the party carried on, told by one of Harding's underlings that there was somewhere they could make camp just off the Redcliffe farm they were aiming for. Good, that probably meant that Dennet was alive. They carried on trekking, ascending hills to avoid crowds of Templars and Apostates, fighting one another. They couldn't intervene, not yet.

_A place of such beauty, that has seen such hardship_

_And it will see more_

"Is now really the time to be cryptic you two?" Varric asked Marietta and Solas but they had both been distracted. So had Marga.

"A statue of a wolf?" Varric asked, they had stopped, both elves seemed particularly interested in it and the Trevelayn woman too seemed drawn to it, though not as strongly. While the elves ventured to it, Marga incessant and Solas somewhat hesitant, Marietta stayed back. Watching them. The fire at the end of her staff rippled slightly, Varric momentarily afraid that her hair might set on fire and when it didn't, he thought of ways to make it funny.

"This is old," Solas remarked, placing a hand on the wolf's head, as if scratching it behind the ears, his voice faltered for a moment, "very, very old." Marga seemed not to have heard him, instead, she was taking flowers from not very far away. They watched her as she lay flower's at the wolf's feet, whispering to herself in elvish. She stayed in silence for a moment before standing and declare they move on.

They had barely wondered further into the Hinterlands when, as they were walking to return a ring to a widow they'd taken off some templars before someone finally asked.

"What did you do at the wolf statue?" Marietta asked, "I thought elves didn't give anything to Fen'Harel, trickster god didn't you call him? Didn't he kill Mythal?"

"So the story goes," Solas muttered, exchanging a glance with Marietta.

"When I was a child," Marga sighed, _oh mother_ , "when I was a child, my mother would tell me stories of the Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel, whatever you wish to call him. She'd tell me them as I fell asleep, I can recite them even now, up until the point he betrayed our Gods. When I would sleep I would be visited by a wolf, sometimes he would be a man first, and then a wolf. If demons came for me in my sleep, he would help me fight them off."

As Marga recited one of the stories her mother had told her, Marietta glanced at Solas. They had stopped again and Solas was staring at Marga, his mouth slightly agape and his brow furrowed. He glanced at Marietta briefly and shook his head. Varric was too busy listening to Marga's tale of the Dread Wolf to notice the exchange between the two.

"Once I came of age, I was marked for Mythal, as that was deemed most appropriate for me," Marga shook her head as if she still couldn't quite believe it, Solas resisted interjecting, "the wolf stopped coming, my mother told me the story him murdering Mythal and I've not dreamt of the wolf since." Marga seemed to not want to dwell on it anymore and Varric stopped asking. They remained silent all the way to the farm.

Everything seemed to grow eerily quiet as they walked towards the farm and Marietta looked around wildly as if she could sense something the others couldn't.

"Are yo-"

"Shh!" She hissed, "something's wrong. I feel like we're being watched." As the word watched came from her mouth three giant black wolves came tearing at them, teeth-gnashing and claws scratching. Solas was quick, throwing up a barrier around the four of them, Marietta throwing him a glare. While they distracted the wolves she ran out from behind the barrier, circling them.

"Where's she gone?" Marga shouted, slamming her staff into the ground, freezing one of the wolves before it could leap over the barrier.

"She can't use her magic with mine," Solas called back, "it'll melt the barrier, she's waiting until the barrier falters or the wolves are close to death." He hoped she was anyway, but he didn't say that to Marga and Varric. He could just see her, the shadow of the black robe out of the corner of his eye, oak staff in her hand. He looked back at Marga, slowly drawing his magic away from the barrier, it wouldn't hold forever. She looked determined as she slammed her staff into the ground, freezing one of the wolves solid, Varric shattering it with a crossbow bolt.

Solas dispersed the barrier and before the wolves could run at them a wave of fire washed over them, leaving nothing of the animals there. Marietta stood on a rock, hand outstretched, panting, her staff being twisted into the ground. Wild eyes looked at them, her hair dishevelled by the force of what she had done.

Solas watched her with curiosity, a hand outstretched to stop Marga from going any further. The Herald of Andraste as they were calling her couldn't get herself caught in the firestorm of a mad mage. He could feel her eyes on him, asking him questions he could not answer. He kept silent, watching Marietta, Marga now having to be held back by Solas's hand. He muttered words under his breath that no one could understand, not even Marga. Marietta fell to her knees and Solas let Marga go.

The Herald went straight to the Trevelyan woman, holding her arm. Marietta looked up at her, dazed and confused. Marga helped her stand, leading her off the rock and back onto the grass. Her wild eyes were still there but dulled; no longer wild per se but lost, like a lost dog searching for its owner.

"Varric and I will take her to the camp Harding had set up," Solas offered Marga, "she needs rest, she used a lot more magic than was strictly necessary."

"And me?" Marga challenged him her brows knitting, still holding Marietta up, "what am I supposed to do?"

"Go talk to the-," Solas faltered, now was not a time to forget a word.

"Horsemaster?" Varric prompted. Solas nodded, Marga, looking far from pleased. However, she relented and helped lift the still dazed Marietta into Solas's arms. A memory flashed across his mind but he dismissed it, that was a long time ago. It didn't matter now. Marietta mumbled something incoherent but Solas almost understood. Almost.

While Marga ran to speak with the horse master, Solas carried Marietta to the camp, moving through the small bits of the marsh before coming to a tent Solas could lay her down in.

"Is she alright?" Varric asked.

"She's fine, she overexerted herself that's all," Solas reassured him. Varric hmphed.

"You know I met her back in Kirkwall," the dwarf remarked, "she wasn't there long, passing business for her circle, she left before everything went to hell. Being a rebel changed her."

"Oh? How so?"

"She was different; happier, bubblier," Varric shrugged, "had a big ol' crush on one of the Champion's friends but she was younger then, I just didn't expect her to have changed as much as she did."

"War does strange things to us all."

"You sound like you have experience."

"My fair share, if one can think of it like that."

It wasn't until that evening that Marietta awoke, all alone in the tent, save the figure sat beside her. A woman. She was beautiful, all golden-haired and gentle. She wore all white and cradled Marietta as if she were a child and she belonged to the woman. She smiled and traced lines on her face. The lines that were so familiar, lines that should have been there. She tried to say the woman's name, for she knew it, but found her lips unable to move or part at all.

The woman shook her head and placed a finger to her lips. Marietta stilled, resigning herself to the gentle embrace of the woman as if the woman were her mother. Had she known her mother? Or was she just a memory, locked away to occasionally come back to haunt Marietta. It shouldn't matter. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the gentle arms of the woman who held her, with all her lustrous blond hair, keeping Marietta safe.


	7. Herald

They had fought wolves and demons, templars and mages, all that the Hinterlands had to offer. Despite her overexertion, Marietta had regained her strength quickly and been able to rejoin them the next day. As they moved around the vast area of land, meaning winter land in Old Ferelden, she quizzed Solas on elves and Marga on the Dalish, even asking Varric about the dwarves now and then. 

"Marietta, are you sure you're alright?" Varric asked when they came to a stop by a stream, they needed water desperately.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry if I concerned you," Marietta smiled, receiving a frown from Varric. 

"You sound like Merrill," he muttered. Why was she acting like this? She wasn't possessed was she? That wouldn't do at all, he'd quite like for the team to come back complete but he'd also seen what demon possession could do to people. He shivered involuntarily and blocked the memory from his mind. He'd told it once to Cassandra and he'd already relived it all too many times. 

"This hasn't got anything to do with what you whispered to her, does it?" Varric asked Solas, they had started moving again and Marietta was ahead of them with Marga, who was telling her all about what it meant to be a First.

"It does not, though she is acting rather strangely," Solas agreed with him, good, it wasn't just Varric going crazy, "we should stop properly, soon."

"This really the time to go for a nap Chuckles?" Varric asked, raising an eyebrow, "Fade as plenty of answers, I get that, but is that going to help her if she's possessed?"

"Oh, no, if she's possessed we'll have to kill her," Solas answered matter-of-factly, "but to find out first might help. I also don't think Lady Trevelyan is possessed if that's any consolation." Varric didn't say anything, instead watching Marietta with an interest. He still remembered her as she had been all those years ago in Kirkwall. She'd been like this. Always asking questions; she'd infuriated Fenris and intrigued Anders and Isabela had tried to teach her ways to woo a man. Merrill had liked her but Marietta had been beyond distrustful; at least if she knew about the blood magic she didn't say anything to her circle. 

They began making their way back to Haven and as soon as the horizon beckoned the sun, they set up camp. They cooked the rabbit Marga had hunted for them and drank a little of the wine given to them by a grateful refugee. They laughed and talked as if they were friends until the sun had gone down and a fire would be more than unwise. At Solas's request, Varric practically fought Marietta for the first watch and insisted that she sleep.

"You took watch this morning, you're exhausted, go get some sleep," Varric insisted.

"I'm fine, Varric," Marietta snapped. 

"I don't mean to be rude _my lady_ but you've been acting weird all day, you need rest, go have some," Varric snapped back. Marietta harumphed at him but departed for her tent. Solas didn't exactly look impressed but his eyes turned to Marga who was sat on a tree stump, praying. For a few moments Solas watched Marga and Varric watched Solas until they heard the strange snuffling sound Marietta sometimes made in her sleep. At that, Solas bid Varric good night.

"Have they both gone to bed?" Marga asked, coming back to the camp, smiling at Varric. Varric nodded to her and watched her silhouette in the night sit down on a rock not far away. A hand went through her hair and she leant back and took in a deep breath of the night air. 

"Aren't you going to bed?" Varric asked, "I'm on watch and normally you take over from me."

"Solas said he'd take over for me," Marga smiled, "said I needed to rest, I just wonder if he's trying to persuade me to experience more of the fade." Varric snorted with laughter, he wouldn't be surprised.

"What do you think of Chuckles?"

"Chuckles, that's an interesting nickname," Marga smiled, "he's interesting and I'm grateful to him, he did look after me after all and he was the one who knew how to seal the rifts. I'm not fond of his...opinions on the Dalish, I'm endeavouring to change them and I will, watch me, but he doesn't stop me doing anything so at least there's that." Varric wondered if he could detect some pink on the elf's cheeks, even in the dark of the night. 

He asked her about Vahra too. She told him all about how Vahra was an expert with potions and some poisons but they were strictly for animals and only to be used by the hunters. She had been orphaned by the Blight and come under the care of Marga's mother and they'd spent their early adulthood as sisters. If there was trouble it was likely they'd find Marga and Vahra behind it. How they'd laughed. 

"Marga," a soft voice called, someone else appeared, "Varric, get some sleep both you, I'll take over." Solas appeared in the darkness. Varric picked up his crossbow and went towards his tent but stopped to watch the exchange between the Dalish woman and the elf. His hand caught her waist, stopping her, holding her where she was. He whispered something to her before she disappeared into his tent rather than her own. 

"Varric," Solas hissed, so he had known Varric was there all along. Varric turned to the elf, "there's nothing wrong with Marietta, I thought it might put your mind at rest." Varric nodded in the darkness and went to his tent. He didn't sleep however, listening still. At first, all he could hear was Solas, humming to himself. Then, the sound of someone else moving through the grass.

"Why were you invading my head?"

"You've been acting strange."

"Oh? Pray tell." 

"Asking all those questions of Marga and I, Varric too. He noticed."

"What else do you expect, I've remembered a part of myself I had forgotten."

"Yourself?"

"Myself, Solas." 

Neither spoke a word and Varric heard Marietta go back to her tent and Solas resumed humming to himself. How odd. Had Marietta forgotten her time in Kirkwall? That was a shame, she'd been pleasant enough company, she'd wiggled her way into the Story of the Champion, under a different name, ogling at the broody elf all the way. Perhaps not much had changed, in a way Solas reminded Varric of Fenris. Being somewhat cryptic and bad at humour seemed to be an elven trait. 

They awoke the next morning and packed up immediately, wishing to return to Haven as quickly as they could. Now armed with information from Mother Giselle, Marga knew she had to go to Val Royeaux but the information that Marietta had given to her was insufficient, to say the least. Varric wondered if Marietta had remembered what had happened to her when she went to Val Royeaux, did she remember anything at all from before the conclave?

Relentless travel brought them to the gates of Haven late that night and they were let in immediately. None wished to be greeted or give any briefing. Before Cullen asked about the horses, leaving the Herald lost until Marga simply said, "Safal." She had forgotten the common tongue word and Solas translated it as horse. They stumbled to their respective homes, all collapsing into their beds and sleeping away everything that had happened. 

When Marga awoke what turned out to be that following afternoon she hurried up to the Chantry, at least grateful that they had let her sleep. On her way she passed an exhausted Marietta, talking to one of the apostates she had convinced on the road. She smiled at her and Marietta stopped, coming over to Marga.

"People are kicking up a fuss at the Chantry doors," she warned, "Cullen's got his hands full. "

Marga carried on up the steps and indeed there was a hoard around the doors, Cullen stood trying to calm everyone as they threw accusations at one another. Marga sighed. Strange humans, she knew that magic was feared by them but to create such a divide voluntarily was strange. Their hunters killed the mages who went too far but they didn't fear them, not as humans did. 

"Your kind killed the most holy."

"Lies! Your kind let her die."

"Shut your mouth!" There was a distinct sound of metal as a sword was drawn and a roar from the lion of Ferelden himself.

"Enough!" He shouted, and upon being called Knight-Captain he snapped, "that is not my title! We are not templars any longer! We are members of the Inquisition." The mage and templar who had been shouting at one another backed off, unfortunately clearing the way for Chancellor Roderick. At this point Marga stepped forward so she was in view, "back already Chancellor," Cullen sneered. Marga knew that he was devout but his hate for the Chancellor was almost amusing. 

"Haven't you done enough?" Cullen demanded.

"I am merely curious how your inquisition and its herald are going to bring order, as you promise."

"Of course you are," Cullen gritted his teeth, looking towards Marga as Roderick had done when he had spoken the word, Herald. Marga walked up to join him as he commanded that everyone else go back to their duties and finally, they dispersed, perhaps on Marga's approach. She came to a stop not far from the two, aware of the weight of the staff on her back. There was something fun about being a mage that everyone seemed to be a little afraid of, it hadn't quite shown itself when she'd been with her clan.

"Tell me, Cullen, why are we keeping the Chancellor around?" Marga asked, she hadn't meant it as a threat but it was taken as one and the Chancellor looked affronted. _Good_ , Marga thought to herself.

"We don't have much choice in the matter," Cullen sighed, "be on your way, Chancellor. Herald," he stammered when Marga raised her eyebrows at him, "I believe Lady Cassandra and Mistress Leliana wish to speak with you about what Mother Giselle told you." Marga nodded to him, glancing at the Chancellor before making her way into the Chantry. 

She'd been in human's chantries a few times before the Conclave. She'd heard about their god, she even knew a couple of their prayers but Marga's belief in what humans believed was almost non-existent. Perhaps there was some truth to it, she imagined that Andraste was real, but how one man could give his divine hand to the whole world she didn't understand, it made more sense to have more gods doing their own thing. At least to her, she'd never say this out loud. She might not have liked being First but she knew diplomacy, she'd dare say better than her mother. 

"Ah, Miss Lavellan, there you are," Cassandra even managed a smile, "you seem to have had a productive time in the Hinterlands."

"We've had many join our ranks, you're quite a good speaker," Josephine's smile was genuine, rather than a little foggy like Cassandra's. The Antivan woman stood poised as always, holding her clipboard and it's candle against her chest, her hand always ready to flourish with its pen. Of course, that was how Josephine won her battles; that and her tongue. She didn't need a staff or sword like everyone else, though Marga had spied her hiding a dagger in the clothes she wore. For just a moment, Marga found her mind wandering to the story of the assassin she had heard, the one the Hero of Ferelden had fallen in love with, only to leave him, all alone. 

"What will you do now?" Cassandra asked as they gathered around the map, Cullen running into to join them just before Leliana could shut the door. Marga sighed and leant on the table, her eyes finding Val Royeaux in Orlais. The capital, as Marietta had told her. It was strange that it didn't seem that far away, yet it was another country entirely. A country that employed people like Leliana to sing songs and strangle enemies. 

"Val Royeaux, it seems," Marga sighed, "the Chantry could still be helpful."

"Meeting the clerics could be helpful," Josephine nodded, doing her usual sway from foot to foot. 

"You can't be serious," Cullen immediately snapped, and they descended into arguing again. While Josephine pointed out the weakness it could bring out, Leliana questioned her on the danger to the Herald. _Herald_. Marga wasn't quite sure she was ever going to get used to being called that. She'd heard it in smatterings, people called her it, she remembered Solas saying the name with the same contempt she had for it. It didn't feel real, it didn't feel right.

"I'm more concerned this won't actually do anything," Marga sighed," they already don't like me and I understand why. An elf, Herald of your god's prophet, it doesn't help our case."

"I will go with you," Cassandra interjected, "Mother Giselle gave us names, use them," this was directed at Leliana who questioned Cassandra, her face ever unwavering, "what choice do we have, Leliana? We have no one to approach for help with the breach, we have to use what influence we have." 

It seemed that Cassandra's word was final and after a moment's silence the others slowly dispersed, some still hot with irritation. She glanced at Marga, who was still looking over the map. Both were distracted by a hasty knock at the door, behind it a red-faced Vahra. Marga frowned at her friend and let her in as she pulled her scout's hood down. Marga pushed the door shut when Vahra looked at it, still panting. She held something out to Marga, placing it gently into her hand. 

"Don't tell me you ran all the way to the Free Marches and back to get this," Marga remarked, hate bubbling in her as she stared down at the halla antler necklace, "Vahra..."

"Keeper Deshanna sent it, she thought you'd want it," Vahra huffed, "just take it and stop being a sour-faced bitch, your mother is dead!" 

"A sour-faced bitch?!" Marga snapped back, watching Cassandra back away and leave quickly, "she hated me! Every single thing I did enraged that woman-"

"Don't talk about her like that!" Vahra shouted, "don't! She was a _good_ woman, you enraged her because you wouldn't even try! The drunkness at every single Arlathvhen, the disregard for teaching the clan's children our language that you, you Marga, know best. So yes, you're a sour-faced bitch and you were both wrong. Take the damn necklace and go shed a few more tears for the poor woman." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all I finished Trespasser properly last night and even though it had basically all been spoiled for me (hence the title of this fic) it still made me cry!


	8. A Note

So! I've been reading this through and there are some (some ha! good one ely) inconsistencies with regards to lore and I don't know how I feel about characterisation in some parts so it's going to be edited big-time before I post any more of it. I may be done within the week, I'm still not working or at Uni so I have time, I may not. I'll post another update when I'm done and just ask that anyone who has enjoyed this who might be returning to maybe give a glance over the other chapters once they're updated.

When I started writing this it was some kind of fever dream at 2 in the morning and I don't feel like it reflects very well on what I can actually write. I really like this story but the stuff I've been writing for it recently (I'm about a month ahead in terms of uploads) has been considerably better than the starting chapters. Feel free to let me know what you think while I'm editing, I won't pick up everything however hard I try so extra pairs of eyes are always welcome :)


	9. Another Note

So! Back again with the updates that aren't chapters. 

Anyone who's read the rest of this has probably noticed that things are a bit confusing, there are mistakes everywhere and my characterisation of some people is a bit off. Since my last update, I've managed to get my grubby hands on a beta reader (who is a lovely friend who loves this franchise immensely!) who has really helped me improve my work. Henceforth, I will be reposting this work with the edits, and the story taking a slightly different path so it's not just a simple rewrite. 

I will have a link to the new work on this note for a month before I outright delete this version, thank you to anyone who's still reading at this point I shall provide the link soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Elvhen in this chapter
> 
> Vana daraan, mir dha'lenaan - Go play, my children  
> Andaran atish'an/Aneth ara - Greetings  
> Fen'Harel ma ghilanas! - The Dread Wolf guides you!
> 
> A Note on the Elvhen used now and in subsequent chapters I am using Fenxshiral's Project Elvhen, however I'm not very proficient with linguistics so there may be mistakes and inconsistencies


End file.
